


Seblaine Week 2013

by define_serenity



Series: Seblaine Week 2013 [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bisexuality, Gen, M/M, Seblaine Week 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>day 1 - college,<br/>day 2 - tv shows,<br/>day 3 - living together,<br/>day 4 - free,<br/>day 5 - McKinley AU,<br/>day 6 - famous Seblaine</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Kiss Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by wolfsbane-in-my-courvoisier: bicurious Sebastian

He cracks one eye open with great difficulty, the other noncompliant because half his face lies buried in–well, not his pillow in any case. He rubs a hand over his face and rolls onto his back, blinking up at a part of the ceiling he only familiarizes himself with on mornings he wakes up with a hangover. Luckily there’s only a mild headache pounding at his temples now. Nothing a few aspirin won’t fix.

He sits up, the rest of the room blissfully empty, Adam considerate enough to leave him a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand, a note added to it that reads ‘in case you need it’. He swallows down two pills, wondering if Adam figured out what went on outside the door last night, or if he only heard him tumbling in as he plunked his head at the foot end of the bed.

What _had_ happened last night? Adam had forced him to come out with him, fed up with him wallowing in his heartbreak or wounded pride or whatever else he was feeling, but left him to his own devices once they hit the bar. He’d had quite a few drinks before Blaine even joined him at the table, his usual flirty self, and by then Adam had already left because he needed to be semi-lucid for his early morning class. Blaine had listened to him talk about his life and his break-up with Quinn for what must have been hours.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur, but Blaine had driven him home, helped him up the stairs all the way to his dorm room door. And right there, Blaine’s hands still at his waist to keep him steady, he’d looked down into Blaine’s eyes and found a moment of pinpoint clarity. He’d been curious for weeks now, what it would be like to kiss a guy, to have sex with a guy, and he can’t deny Blaine had been the protagonist of many of those fantasies – Now that he was blissfully unattached again, where was the harm?

And Blaine knew, he must have, because their lips had met somewhere halfway in the space between them, Blaine’s barely-there moan and his fingers digging into his hips now carved into his memory, the way Blaine tasted and the faint smell of raspberries, his lips moving full and greedy against his, tongue stroking into his mouth–

If he hadn’t been absolutely wasted he would have his answer, but he’d had a lot to drink and his head was swimming and he’s still not sure – was it a great kiss because he was drunk, or because he really was attracted to guys as well?

He likes the friendship he’s been building with Blaine, one that didn’t avoid conversations on a topic that had been preoccupying most of his headspace. What if he ruined that now?

One thing’s clear: he needs to talk to Blaine.

Blaine shares an apartment with a friend somewhere off campus, an address he finds quickly thanks to Adam’s astute organizational skills. If he ever plans on figuring anything out, about himself or any feelings he might harbor for Blaine, this is the only sensible thing to do. He’s not the guy who runs away from these things or waits for them to blow over.

Twenty minutes later he’s showered and dressed and standing in front of a dark oak door adorned with the number 26. He knocks without hesitation, because the longer he spends pondering this issue the harder it’ll be to talk about it, and he owes Blaine an explanation for his behavior last night.

The door opens to a sight he won’t soon forget, a guy wearing only a pair of slacks, brown hair sticking up every which way, green eyes narrowed on him as if he just woke up. Blaine could’ve warned him his roommate had the body of an Olympic swimmer.

He tears his eyes away from the guy’s torso. “Is Blaine here?”

“Yeah, he’s in his room.”

A squeal sounds through the apartment, a distinctly female one, followed by a loud “Hunter!”

Blaine’s roommate – _Hunter_ – laughs and shakes his head, padding back into the apartment, taking little to no note of him. “Baby, it’s a toaster,” he hears Hunter say. “It won’t bite you.”

He ventures a few steps inside, hesitant to disturb Hunter and his lady friend once he catches them lip-locked in the kitchen. Hunter’s girlfriend is tiny compared to him, a cute blonde only dressed in one of her boyfriend’s shirts.

The apartment’s bigger than he expected, the kitchen adjacent a large living room, two bedrooms on the far side, one of them with the door still closed. That must be Blaine’s room.

Hunter’s girlfriend giggles and he decides he’s already taken enough time postponing the one thing he came here to do. He leaves the happy couple behind him and marches to Blaine’s door, raising a hand.

“Don’t bother knocking,” Hunter calls. “He won’t hear you.”

He takes a deep breath and pushes through the door with no further doubt clawing at him, even though he’s decidedly nervous now and it’s not like him. But he reminds himself he’s never kissed a guy before, and even if it had somehow all made sense yesterday, it’s a post-hangover early morning mess right now; he doesn’t know where he and Blaine stand.

The room is windowless, small compared to what he glimpsed of Hunter’s room a few seconds ago, his double bed squeezed into a corner. Blaine’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, textbooks laid out in a half circle around him, listening to his iPod.

Blaine looks up immediately, one of his earbuds falling out. “Sebastian.”

“Your roommate let me in.”

Blaine pulls out the other earbud and shrugs. “Hunter and Kitty get really loud."

“I see.”

His eyes wander to the rest of the room, because now that he’s here, in this space Blaine occupies on a daily basis, he remembers last night even more clearly, Blaine’s thick curls between his fingers, the way Blaine had raised himself on his toes, their chests heaving together.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he blurts out, scratching the back of his head. “I took advantage and–” He draws in a breath, ignoring the steady contradictory thump in his chest. “I crossed the line.”

A silence falls he hadn’t anticipated. He’d hoped Blaine would accept his apology as it came. Maybe it’d been stupid to think Blaine would forgive him for being a dumb drunk.

But Blaine huffs a laugh, eyes searching his face. “You’re being serious,” he says, and gets up from the bed.

“Of course.” He blinks, surprised by the sudden turn of events. “I was drunk and depressed. You were there and I–”

“I’m glad I was,” Blaine interrupts, and shrugs. “You did say you’ve been curious.”

“Well, yeah,” he breathes a laugh, “but that’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

In truth he has no idea what he had in mind, a date and a goodnight kiss, another dance at the club that turned into something more... But forcing his curiosity on Blaine because he was the only gay guy within reach was most definitely not on the list.

“I don’t let people use me, Sebastian,” Blaine says, a conviction in his voice that hides a painful truth. He’d already figured out someone hurt Blaine not too long ago. “I’ve done that and I’m never going to be that guy again.”

Blaine takes a step closer, hazel eyes finding his. “You wanted to kiss me and I let you.”

He searches Blaine’s eyes for any signs of apprehension, but finds none. This is the side of Blaine he admires most of all, his confidence, his absolute conviction that he is who he’s supposed to be and he doesn’t care what other people think of him. He always thought that was one of his own stronger characteristics, but lately he’s not so sure.

“It was a great kiss,” Blaine adds, unable to stop himself from blushing. “And if that was only true for me, that’s okay. I won’t lose any sleep over it.”

“No, I liked it,” he rushes to say, burying his hands in his pockets, unease settling in his skin. “I just don’t know if it was the alcohol or–” his voice trails off, uncertain of what to say next.

How can he explain that he took exactly what he wanted and still didn’t get any answers?

He studies the rest of the room, the small desk cluttered with notebooks, pencil shavings and dirty mugs, a shelf on the wall lined with pictures and high school show choir trophies. A smile pulls at a corner of his mouth; of course Blaine was in show choir.

“Do you want to find out?” comes Blaine’s unexpected question, echoing through the room as if he asked it over and over again, underlain with an uncertainty he choses to ignore – wouldn’t this be taking advantage of Blaine all over again?

He swallows hard, but his heart beats with a resounding yes. He wants to try this again, find out if last night was a fluke or if his body will throb in all the right places, if this attraction he feels for Blaine stretches beyond the limits of his blood-alcohol content.

“Blaine–” he starts, but Blaine reaches forward for his hand and guides him to the bed, and before he knows what he’s already agreed to they’re both seated on the bed, their legs touching, Blaine’s eyes bigger than he’s ever seen them.

And Blaine doesn’t ask again nor does he resist again, because next thing he’s licking his lips and there’s the gentle caress of Blaine’s fingers curling around his neck, pulling him closer. Blaine’s eyes dart between his eyes and his mouth, before he closes them and presses his lips to his. His lips tingle, a sensation he hadn’t registered last night, and he breathes in deep, letting it all wash over him again, Blaine’s scent and taste and the little sigh at the back of his throat he tries to hold back but fails to, Blaine’s morning stubble grazing his skin.

It’s nothing like last night, this time Blaine’s the one in control, his fingers sliding down his neck, palm hot through his shirt once his hand settles on his chest, tongue a tentative tease to his lips. And that’s all Blaine gives him, little teases of his tongue, his lips moving against his, but it’s enough for his head to turn dizzy, for his muscles to string together until he loses sense of self, his skin now tingling all over.

He acts on instinct and raises his hands to Blaine’s face, drawing him closer, licks into his mouth and moans, a slow burn settling at the base of his spine. Heat twists in his stomach and Blaine’s hand now clasps at his shoulder, and he wants more. So much more.

He releases Blaine’s lips to catch his breath, but as soon as he does another squeal booms through the apartment, followed by loud laughter and more screaming.

“God, they’re impossible,” Blaine exasperates, while the noise outside turns into moaning, and seconds later they hear a door slamming shut. He understands why Blaine chooses to block this out with music.

Blaine’s hand falls away from his chest, leaving a cold spot. “You okay?” 

He clears his throat. “Yeah. That was really–” _what was that?_

Blaine smiles. “Not just the alcohol then.”

Only last night was nothing compared to this, it was merely a shadow of the feelings coursing through him right now, his body throbbing, heart pounding and a heat pooled deep in his stomach he recognizes all too well. He really likes kissing Blaine.

He wouldn’t mind doing that again.

“Sebastian,” Blaine starts carefully, tapping into his confusion, “let me help you. With whatever this is.”

He licks his lips, his mouth gone dry.

“If you have questions or you want to–” Blaine ducks his head, blushing again, and if he didn’t know Blaine better by now he’d call this his shy side. “–fool around.”

He casts down his eyes, but can’t help a small smile. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering,” Blaine says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not looking for anything serious. And you’re not exactly hard on the eyes.”

He chuckles before meeting Blaine’s eyes again, catching on his lips and there are few thoughts that veer from any future fantasies playing out between them.

“Let me help you,” Blaine insists. “In your own time.”

He nods. “Okay.”

 

 

**\- fin -**

 

 


	2. What You Refuse To Say To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Blaine as Damon and Elena from The Vampire Diaries. spoilers for 4x22 - Graduation.

He’s sure it wasn’t always like this. Before he was a vampire he managed some ounce of control when Sebastian fucked up, every time his actions led to someone close to him getting hurt, or worse, killed. Before, he held back, buried his anger somewhere deep inside where even he couldn’t reach, because getting angry at Sebastian was like fighting fire with fire, it ended up making things worse, making Sebastian worse, and he couldn’t afford that happening.

But right now he’s tethering on the edge, ready to explode, his hands balled into fists as he searches the house for Sebastian.

Sebastian’s gotten him to this point so many times, got him to shake where he stood while he shouted abuse at him, but he’d never hit him. It was cathartic, walking over to Sebastian and hitting him square in the face, because he got forced to feel this panic of loss again and becoming a vampire had in no way made him stronger–physically, yes, but emotionally he feels everything more intense, his emotional scars never quite heal.

And Sebastian had been so goddamn cavalier about it, like his life didn’t mean anything in the grander scheme of making _him_ human again, only Sebastian had to know, he simply had to–

He would die for the people he loves.

His anger still reigns strong, a darkness eating at his soul, the animal inside growing stronger. He needs Sebastian to value his own life the way he’s chosen to value his. Why does it always have to be one or the other? Both their lives matter.

He finds Sebastian in the living room in front of the fireplace–he plans on apologizing, he should have said what Sebastian means to him rather than act on his anger, but Sebastian doesn’t usually leave him with many rational thought. He has to say it now, there’s nothing standing in their way, no Klaus or Silas, no sire bond or mortality. They can finally be something.

But before he gets the chance, Sebastian says “I wanted to apologize,” and he stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t hear those words leave Sebastian’s mouth very often so he’s taken by surprise, and maybe he expects too much, maybe he’s too lenient, but he wants to give Sebastian a chance to explain himself.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Good.”

“I said I wanted to,” Sebastian responds immediately. “But I’m not sorry.”

His arms fall to his sides, renewed anger pulling him a step closer. “You’d rather die than be human?” he asks, a strange sensation cutting through him where his heart used to beat. It’s _pain_ , fusing with the anger making him shake, it’s entitlement sired by the rising knowledge that he’s the one who makes Sebastian feel alive too.

Tears sting at the corners of his eyes. “How can you expect me to be okay with that?”

“I didn’t say you were supposed to be okay with it,” Sebastian says, staring into the fire. “I just said I’m not sorry. Because you know what I really am?” Sebastian looks at him, the flames setting his eyes ablaze.

“ _Selfish_.”

Sebastian says the word like he’s said it a thousand times, like it’s become synonymous with him.

He knows this. He’s always known this. He’s only ever hoped it could be different.

“I make bad choices that hurt you,” Sebastian adds.

Yes, he thinks, Sebastian’s hurt him _again_ , they’re here making excuses _again_ , trying to make sense of this push-pull relationship they’ve been flirting with for the past three years. Sebastian’s never apologized and he never had to, because he’s forgiven him for every trespass, every heartbreak. At the end of the day, through sickness and heartache and even death, he needs Sebastian by his side.

And sometimes he’s really left to wonder why.

“Yes, I’d rather die than be human,” Sebastian says. “I’d rather die right now than spent a handful of years with you only to die when I’m old and sick and miserable and you’re still you.

“I’d rather die right now than spent my last few years remembering how good I had it and how happy I was because that’s who I am, Blaine. And I’m not going to change.”

He’s not sure if he wants Sebastian to change. His outburst happened because of how close he’d come to losing Sebastian, _again_ , and this time the cure was an immediate solution to the problem. Sebastian’s selfishness had stood in the way of something he wants from him, something that’s been at the tip of his tongue for such a long time now, but Sebastian makes it so hard to say. Every single time.

Sebastian’s eyes keep him pinned in place. “There’s no apology in the world that includes all the reasons that I’m wrong for you.”

Selfish, an apt term to describe their entire relationship. It was never like this with Hunter. Being with Hunter came easy, he gave him time and space to make up his mind, to figure out if loving a vampire was a sane choice to begin with. Sebastian seems an even less sane choice than Hunter had been three years ago.

He knows Sebastian won’t change.

But Hunter had realized something Sebastian can’t see, something Sebastian takes for granted or simply accepts in ways Hunter’s still not able to: he’s the one who’s changed.

 

.

 

There was a time where Blaine would’ve left it at this, would’ve heard all his selfish reasons for not taking that cure, lingered a few moments longer to let him feel the weight of the pain he was causing, and then left without another word to let him stew. But Blaine has changed, he knows he won’t like what comes next, Blaine reads him too well, maybe because he’s let him in too often.

“Fine.”

Blaine’s eyes shine with tears and he hates himself for it, but he keeps doing this, he keeps finding new ways to hurt Blaine. Hunter never did, he made the right choices, knew how to read Blaine’s moods without pushing him too far in the process. He never knows when to stop.

“Then I’m not sorry either.”

His eyes find Blaine’s, burning with conviction. “I’m not sorry I met you,” Blaine says.

He remembers him well, that sweet innocent boy he ran into when he returned to Mystic Falls, a boy unsure of his future, unaware of what that future would bring–a boy who was about to lose everything.

“I’m not sorry that knowing you has made me question _everything_.”

Blaine’s heartbreak didn’t start with him, but knowing him has only made things worse.

He loves Blaine, it’s a certainty that had seeded itself under his skin, but this entire town would have been better off without him and Hunter. Somewhere deep down though, selfishly, he hopes he took up some kind of meaningful place, if not in Blaine’s heart than at least in his life.

“That in death you’re the one that made me feel most alive.”

Look at that boy now. Strong after being broken so often, alive without a heartbeat. He takes comfort in the thought that he managed to guide Blaine in his life as vampire, the one thing his brother was unable to do. Hunter tried, but his inability to accept what he is stood in the way of helping Blaine.

“You’ve been–a terrible person,” Blaine says, and something dull aches at the center of him, the part of him that pushes people away, keeps them at arm’s length.

“You’ve made all the wrong choices.”

He prefers a punch to the face to this, to Blaine cutting him down to his building blocks, everything he is founded on boiling down to one principle: the only person he trusts is himself. Of all the things Blaine’s ever said this hurts the most, because if Blaine knows him so well why does he keep begging things from him he’s unable to give?

Blaine knows he won’t change, he’s not capable of changing.

“And of all the wrong choices I have yet to make this will prove to be the biggest one.”

Blaine takes a deep breath.

“But I’m not sorry that I’m in love with you.”

It strikes like lightning.

His lips part and his face falls, Blaine’s eyes big and bright and _true_ and yet there’s still something inside him that hesitates, a little voice at the back of his head telling him he doesn’t get lucky, he never gets to be happy. He’s fucked up too often, did horrible things all in the name of his nature so he doesn’t get this. He doesn’t get the boy of his dreams.

“I love you, Sebastian,” Blaine says and he shoots forward, closing the distance between them before the confession evaporates or proves to be a dream, before all of this slips from his fingers like grains of sand.

“I love you,” Blaine repeats and his hands are on Blaine’s face and then their lips are touching and he kisses Blaine for what seems the first time, only it isn’t, and something tells him it won’t be the last.

“I love you,” Blaine whispers against his lips, over and over again, until somewhere in the mix of all it he allows himself to feel it too, becomes a little more selfish again so he can forget he fell in love with his brother’s boyfriend, how he’s hurt Blaine and will keep hurting him and how terrible a choice this really is.

He kisses Blaine until they’re both dizzy, until they’ve lost all sense of who they were, where they are and what the future will bring.

“I love you too,” he whispers, here, now, but he doesn’t plan on letting go. 


	3. What A Tinder Box We Live In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt by Amaranti. title taken from Location by Freelance Whales.

Moving in together was their biggest mistake.

It was easier when they both had their own place, Blaine shared an apartment with Santana and he owned a loft on the Upper East Side and it usually took some maneuvering – if not very meticulous rearranging of their schedules – to meet anywhere. Sometimes Blaine had the difficult task of convincing Santana to sleep over at her girlfriend’s (something she really hated doing) and sometimes he had to open up his loft for Blaine.

They were both still in college, he was juggling classes with an internship, and they’d both agreed early on in their relationship that they wouldn’t be the kind of boyfriends that had to spend every night together. They both enjoyed their independence: Blaine liked going out with his NYADA friends to some bar named Callbacks where they spent their nights singing and drinking, and he preferred to hang out with his college buddies, shooting some pool, playing darts, watching his friends fall over themselves to impress the girls at the bar.

They did plenty of things together, like breakfast in bed, studying in the same room, lunches at their favorite coffee shop, walk his dog in the park, go to the movies and the theater, have dinner together, make out on the couch while ignoring the television, drive each other crazy in bed until one of them was begging for more.

Before either of them knew it one year turned into two and then three and he took a chance when he suggested that once they graduated they could move in together. Blaine had giggled at his caution _because of course_ he wanted them to live together, they loved each other, and they knew each other well enough to forgive the other’s little flaws.

Blaine forgives him for snoring. He forgives Blaine for talking in his sleep.

Blaine accepts that he hates doing the dishes with a burning passion, but he still agrees to do them during weekends. He accepts that Blaine wants to learn how to cook, so he encourages him as much as he can, even though a lot of his experiments end up in the trash.

Blaine gets jealous and sometimes they argue about that, like they argue about Blaine’s insistence to remain friends with Kurt, but they find their way back to each other eventually. He’s at every single one of Blaine’s performances, and Blaine doesn’t mind that his boss prefers his boyfriend to stay away from corporate parties.

They still did things separately, Blaine’s life didn’t revolve solely around him and he hadn’t structured his around Blaine.

But they made one fatal mistake.

It took little to no effort to see each other, sometimes all they had to do was pop into the other room, look up, wait for the other to come home or wake up, because they shared this space together and it was theirs.

It was a mistake.

Ever since they moved in together they never arrived anywhere on time.

It starts off innocent enough every time, both of them getting dressed for a night out, a concert, the theater, the movies, weddings–one of them will lose focus or zoom in on the other, something very similar to what’s happening now.

They really should get going, Rachel will have their asses if she found out they arrived late to see her in the role of her life and he’s the last person who wants to tempt the wrath of Rachel Berry. Blaine’s friends had accepted him into their lives but that didn’t mean he couldn’t earn their scorn all over again.

Though this time he plans on blaming Blaine for the whole thing. Blaine had all day to get ready, to shower and pick out an outfit, while he was stuck at the office texting back and forth so Blaine would know which suit he planned on wearing. And in all fairness Blaine had showered and gotten dressed by the time he got home–he’d skipped over to him real quick and pressed a kiss to his lips, asking him about his day. He’d followed Blaine into the bedroom, where he was studying himself in the mirror, buttoning his shirt sleeves.

And that’s the exact moment he decides Blaine will get the blame this time around.

They’re going to be late.

Again.

He should shower and get into a fresh suit, not get distracted by his dashingly handsome boyfriend of almost four years. But when it comes to Blaine, he’s never been good at self-control. He grabs Blaine’s jacket off the bed and walks over to him, Blaine automatically reaching his arms back and letting him drape the jacket over his shoulders.

“What are you smiling about?” Blaine asks, his eyes narrowing on his face in the mirror.

“I’m just–being nostalgic.” He shrugs, fixing the lapels of Blaine’s jacket, giving it a little tug at the bottom so it fits more snug. “Do you remember the first time I pulled a jacket on for you?”

Blaine frowns at him, more amused than confused. “Wes’ wedding?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“I remember the first time you took it off,” Blaine teases.

He draws a step closer, his lips settling near Blaine’s ear. “Me too, baby.”

He grazes his teeth down Blaine’s neck and he feels Blaine reach back for his ass, the referenced memory coming to both of them vivid and strong, hushed breaths as they stumbled up the stairs, lips nipping at skin and a strong tug at each other’s ties, his hands smoothing Blaine’s blazer off his shoulders once they reached the loft–he’d wanted it for so long, for Blaine to feel the same, to realize how long it’d been Blaine, just Blaine, and no one else.

They hadn’t made it to the bedroom, Blaine had almost tipped upside down when they hit the couch but he’d only taken a stronger hold–Blaine had moaned into his mouth and begged him not to stop, told him how much he wanted it, how long he’d been waiting.

“You’re making me really curious,” Blaine says.

“It was our senior year, right after–”

“I cheated on Kurt,” Blaine realizes, a shadow of doubt crossing his face he still sees too often. Blaine has never forgiven himself for what he did to Kurt, what’s worse is that Kurt never truly forgave Blaine for cheating, so that doubt stays alive, all the time.

“I was going to say ‘broke up’ and you found your way back to Dalton,” he corrects, even though Blaine had left him again soon after. He’d told Hunter Blaine would only get them closer to a Sectionals trophy, and Hunter was stuck on winning hard enough to at least try. “And I put that blazer on you. You do remember?”

“I do.” Blaine casts down his eyes. “But it wasn’t the happiest time for me.”

“It was for me.” He bites at Blaine’s ear. “You want to know why?”

Blaine catches his eyes in the mirror.

“That was exactly one year before our first kiss,” he whispers, remembering how Blaine had smelled and felt, even though he knows it so well now, how hard it’d been for him to leave it at that, to hold back and not tell Blaine how bad he really had it for him. But Blaine was hurting, and he didn’t want to push him again.

Blaine’s nose crinkles in that adorable and goofy manner. “You’re making that up.”

“One year, killer,” he says. “I waited for so long, tried to give you time and space, watched you hurt and heal, saw you learn how to smile again, contented myself with being your friend. All the while hoping you could feel what I was feeling.”

Blaine smiles. “You’re such a sap,” he says, but it translates into _thank you_.

“Your fault.”

Blaine laces their fingers together and it all comes back to him, how Blaine had reached out to him after the New Directions lost Sectionals, how he never once looked sad or disappointed because he was proud of the Warblers, even Hunter, for coming so far, how he avoided talking about Kurt at any cost, but slowly, ever so slightly, he started opening up to him.

They started texting each other again like before the slushie incident, they met for coffee and Blaine was in the first row at Regionals, paid for his own plane ticket to watch them take Nationals in LA. They’d spent much of the summer after graduation moving their stuff to New York, saying goodbye to their families, but somehow they’d manage to find time for each other too.

And then somewhere early spring the next year, Blaine had leaned in during one of the sappiest movies he’d ever been dragged to and pressed his lips to his, apologized when he didn’t reciprocate but quite honestly _he’d gone into shock_ , and squeaked for the entire theater to hear once he came to his senses and captured Blaine’s lips with his own.

“Honey?” Blaine asks.

“Yes, moon of my life?”

Blaine chuckles. “Take it back off.”

“We’re going to be late.”

“Your fault,” Blaine whispers, and closes his hand over his crotch.

Any blame he was prepared to put on his gorgeous boyfriend dissipates–Blaine has all but melted against him and he admits to himself that _okay_ , maybe it’s his fault most of the time. He can’t help it that every time he sees Blaine in a jacket like that part of him feels like he’s coming home. It’s silly, of course, that sense of home is really Blaine and their Dalton blazers are too small for either of them to wear again, but the lapels and the stitching and the memory of red piping, that’s returning to a place, _a person_ he knows inside and out, every crook and cranny, every sound he makes and his scent, whether it’s the reminiscent smell of raspberry gel or the heady smell when Blaine lies sweating beneath him.

It’s home.

But they both still agree that moving in together was the worst idea either of them ever had, and that included Blaine’s idea of homemade lasagna.

Because they don’t make it in time. They’re late for Rachel’s opening night, and her second night, they’re late for Artie’s movie premiere, they’re late for Cooper’s wedding, they’re even late to their own rehearsal dinner.

Because of one high school blazer he pulled over Blaine’s shoulders so many years ago, when this kind of love seemed unattainable and something he didn’t deserve, when he was into the whole self-torture and self-deprecation, when Blaine knew how to tease and flirt, but not how to wind him up to the point of exploding.

When he didn’t know just how incoherent and hot Blaine got when he merely teased his hand down his pants, palming his hard-on through the fabric of his boxers, when he didn’t know how pleasurable it was to have Blaine’s head thrashing, thrown back on his shoulder, doing what he could to keep it together, when the most beautiful sight he’d seen wasn’t yet Blaine in the mirror trying to keep his knees from giving out, bottom lip trapped between his teeth while he groaned with abandon, begging him to keep going, harder, faster, longer.

They’re late. They’re always late. They’re infamous for being late.

Because once they’re done they still face the task of making themselves look presentable again, and not, well, fucked.

Oh, and wiping the come off the mirror.

 


	4. Steal Some Covers, Share Some Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt by watchingstarsdie: handcuffed Seblaine  
> title taken from Sunday Morning by Maroon 5

His cellphone starts buzzing underneath the pillow and it all comes crashing back in an instant: _notes_ , _essays_ , _deadlines_ , _three more days before his next exam_. He lets his phone vibrate, afraid he’ll fall back asleep without it, but buries his face deeper into the pillow nonetheless; he’ll just take a few moments longer, enough to register the long limbs tangled with his own, the solid chest rising and falling against his back, strong lean arms wrapped around his torso.

He snuggles back while Sebastian hums, savoring every second he gets. He hasn’t spent much time with Sebastian these past few weeks, well aware of how big a distraction he allows his boyfriend to be. But he cherishes these stolen moments in the morning, or at night when he joins Sebastian in bed–he’ll usually be sleeping before his head even hits the pillow, but he loves going to sleep to the sensation of Sebastian pulling him to his chest, kissing his hair, whispering a soft ‘Night, killer’ before he drifts off.

He shakes his head and forces his eyes open; he can’t afford to go back to sleep. He yawns, his jaw cracks and he stretches his arms, but a metallic clink and a tug on his wrist make him realize he’s stuck.

“Bas,” he complains and raises his right arm, linked securely to Sebastian’s left by a pair of handcuffs.

“Shh,” Sebastian hushes, his breath tickling the back of his neck. “Go back to sleep.”

“I have to study,” he groans, and tries to move, but Sebastian tightens his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He huffs a laugh; this isn’t the first time this has happened, but it’s the first time Sebastian has resorted to such extreme measures. “I have a schedule.”

“And leave it to me to question your OCD-like tendencies, killer,” Sebastian says, “but you need some time off.”

He grunts another complaint, preparing to resort to some other tactic to get Sebastian to release him. He tries to turn into the bed, but that only makes him pulls along Sebastian’s arm and knot them together further.

Sebastian chuckles, that half-asleep-low-in-his-throat one he loves so much. “Other way, babe.”

He turns the other way, his conviction mostly lost somewhere between the caress of Sebastian’s hand down his spine and catching his green sleep addled eyes. “How did you even get these on me?” he still manages to scowl.

“You sleep like a rock when you have finals,” Sebastian answers. “Only more proof that you need to relax.”

But he doesn’t have time to relax, there’s stuff he wants to revise and he was hoping to get a headstart on some research for his dissertation. No matter how much he wants to stay in bed with Sebastian, he has to get up. “Where are the keys?” he asks and sits up, digging around in the sheets in case Sebastian got careless like last time and they’ve gotten lost.

Sebastian shrugs. “I have no idea,” he says, tugging once at their linked limbs – the handles are covered with a black fur to prevent chaffing – and he tumbles back onto the bed with a soft “Oomph.” He gives up, maybe a little too easy, but he knows Sebastian and he knows himself: this has always been hard for him to resist.

“This isn’t why we bought these things, you know,” he says and shifts to raise himself above Sebastian, his hands on either side of Sebastian’s head, his knees at Sebastian’s hips, all in the hopes of regaining some control.

Sebastian smiles, beautiful in a way that still manages to catch him by surprise, his free hand tiptoeing around his waist. “Remind me why we did.”

He giggles, blushing beyond his control, because as much as he’d opposed the purchase of these things they’ve used them often enough to chase away any embarrassment. He leans in and captures Sebastian’s lips, tongue licking into his mouth long and deep, encouraged by Sebastian moaning his approval.

Last time they used the handcuffs they’d fastened both his wrists to the headboard, and Sebastian had taken his sweet time with him, taunting his body in all the right spots, having him writhing in no time, teasing his tongue over his cock, fingers around his nipples and it wasn’t long before he was begging for Sebastian to just fuck him already.

Their mouths move together, his shoulders burning with exertion, even more when Sebastian starts pushing at one of his knees, forcing him down. He settles his groin against Sebastian’s, hips bucking, his hard-on stroking against Sebastian’s.

“Bas, seriously,” he gasps for air, his hips looking for more friction while his lips keep chasing Sebastian’s. “I love you and I love fooling around in the morning, but you promised–”

“I promised to keep my insatiable appetites to myself while you had finals,” Sebastian cuts him short, lips trailing down his neck and there are barely any brain cells telling him to get out of the bed once Sebastian’s lips latch onto a particular sensitive spot behind his ear. He’s certain anyone looking could see the part of him that misses Sebastian edged with a thick chalky outline, but Sebastian really is the biggest distraction in his life and ever since they moved in together it’s one that didn’t relent.

So he’d taken his distance, made Sebastian swear to respect his wishes, with the added promise of plenty of celebratory sex once his exams were over. He knew how to manipulate his boyfriend, after all.

Sadly that worked both ways: he almost whines when Sebastian stops.

“But I also promised to dial you back if I thought you were working yourself too hard.”

He sighs, melting down onto the warm body beneath him. “Is it that bad?” he asks, because he knows how he gets, continually pushing himself to do better, to work harder, and sometimes he fears that comes at the cost of a relationship that he can’t do without. He’s lucky Sebastian’s so understanding about his academic prowess; there are things he’s far less understanding about.

“You had six cups of coffee yesterday and you barely ate a thing.” Sebastian draws his hands through his curls, his scalp buzzing on the edge of exhaustion. “Your eyes are bloodshot.”

He pushes a kiss to Sebastian’s lips. “I guess a few hours of sleep won’t kill me.”

“You know what else won’t kill you?”

He laughs. “Your insatiable appetites?” he asks, and lets Sebastian push him back on his back, lips trailing down his neck, shoulders, before his lips close around one of his nipples and his back arches off the bed. “Jury’s still out on that–” his last syllable hitches at the back of his throat, turning into a strangled groan as Sebastian licks up the length of his cock.

“ _Baby_ ,” he moans, eyes drifting shut, heat sparking throughout his body. He reaches a hand down, digging his fingers into Sebastian’s hair, the links of the chain locking their wrists together clinking. Sebastian teases his tongue at his tip first, lips forming around his head before he takes him all the way.

“ _God_ ,” he chokes out, his body stringing together with a tight shiver and yet he hasn’t felt this relaxed in weeks. He’s been putting off these kinds of distractions to fill his head with all kinds of information without realizing he needs this–he needs his wonderful boyfriend to tell him to take a step back before he burns out (it happened once in his first year and he was a wreck for weeks), to make him forget about school and bills and work and just become two bodies feeding off each other.

He feels Sebastian shift and the bed starts creaking at a steady rhythm, Sebastian moaning around him. His cock twitches in Sebastian’s mouth. He wants to prop himself up on his elbows to take in his gorgeous man, watch the muscles in his back flex, his head bob up and down while he sucks him off, watch Sebastian fuck himself into the mattress–but Sebastian coils his right hand around the base of his cock, giving him no control over his left hand and he loses all sense of the world once Sebastian starts jerking him off too.

“Fuck, Bas,” his fingers tighten in Sebastian’s hair and he’s so close already, Sebastian’s hot breath and hand, mouth open and inviting, his hips making the bedsprings sing a symphony.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Sebastian pants against his groin, teeth grazing at his skin lightly before his lips are around his cock again, setting a dizzying rhythm with his hand and mouth–his hips stutter a few times and he comes with a long sigh, any tension left leaving his body.

Sebastian comes hard after a few more thrusts, shaking the bed; he chuckles lightly, his head swimming, slowly carding his fingers through Sebastian’s hair. He lies there thinking how lucky he is with a boyfriend as considerate as Sebastian, insistent enough to push past his complaints, determined enough to make him see he hasn’t been taking care of himself.

Sebastian trails kisses back up his stomach, maneuvering them both on their sides again, kissing him slow and deep.

“Thanks for that,” he whispers against Sebastian’s lips, too far gone to register much besides all the points of contact between his body and Sebastian’s.

“Get some sleep,” Sebastian murmurs, followed by the clink of the handcuffs getting undone.

“Hmm,” he hums, pulling Sebastian’s arms around him. “You’ll wake me up in a few hours?”

Sebastian presses a kiss to his forehead. “Promise.”


	5. A Dark World Aches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of cheating today, because this is a scene from the much larger McKinley AU I have planned, but it fit the prompt? Set during On My Way, in a 'verse where Blaine transferred to McKinley after Sadie Hawkins and a *different* Sebastian transfers in his junior year. 
> 
> Warnings: themes of suicide, coming out, bullying & homophobia

He’s changed into his track gear when someone storms through the doors of the locker room, a voice sounding several rows behind him, shouting for someone else there. “Dude, did you hear about Karofsky?” –he recognizes Miles’ voice– “Dude’s gay.”

“What?” another voice asks.

“It’s all over the net, man,” Miles says. “He tried to kill himself.”

The shock that runs up his spine catches him unexpected, but settles somewhere in a dark place he likes to kid himself he doesn’t have. Dave Karofsky, the same guy who’d gotten kicked out of McKinley for bullying, the guy who managed to piss Blaine off just by sitting in the same bar as him.

The guy he hadn’t been particularly nice to even before he knew about his past.

He remembers him well, the broad-built hulk of a guy who’d approached him one night at Scandals; he’d seen him around a few times before, always sitting by himself at the bar, nursing a beer or two, sneaking glances at the dance floor, but he always ended up leaving alone.

Until one night Karofsky decided to take a shot at him.

 

_“Are you seriously hitting on me right now?” he’d responded to Karofsky’s very weak ‘I’ve seen you here before, haven’t?’ and stared at him wide-eyed, bewildered, because of all the guys in this pathetic excuse of a bar Karofsky decided to single_ him _out?_

_“I’m_ _–”_

_“Let me break this down for you, bear cub,” he said, swatting at Karofsky’s chest. “Guys that look like me don’t go for guys like you.”_

_“Why?” Karofsky frowned. “What’s wrong with me?”_

_“First of all, you’re about a hundred pounds overweight,” he started. “Quit waxing your eyebrows, you look like Liberace. In fact,” he added, “stay in the closet, buddy.”_

 

“Radical,” Miles’ as yet unidentified teammate answers, before the sound of their receding footsteps resounds and the room falls silent once more.

He swallows hard, a bitter taste making its way up his throat and his skin feels too tight. His encounter with Karofsky was weeks ago, and he’s said more horrible things to countless of guys, but he’d never stopped to think about the consequences. He never does. He keeps playing at chance meetings and random hook-ups in the back of dingy bars without considering what or who or why these other guys are there.

He knows why he goes there.

What has he done?

He never heard Karofsky’s whole story, nor does he believe he’s the direct cause of what happened, but he knows how these things can build, how a mean word and a hard shove get grafted into your skin, memory after memory of pain and guilt and self-loathing until one day it feels like you’ll burst, like nothing will ever be okay again and the entire world has stopped caring.

He packs his things together and decides to head home, having lost all will to train today. Normally running gets his mind off things, allows him to let loose and stop thinking, focus on the sound of his breathing and the rhythm of his feet hitting the hard court beneath him, but this has him shaken, guilt and shame racing through him and the stark realization that not too long ago he was in the exact same position.

And all he’d done was turn into his own tormentors.

Things weren’t absolutely terrible. He’d always been a self-reliant kid, growing up in a single-parent household had taught him to be independent from a very young age, and that included dealing with his bullies. The kids at school teased him about taking dance classes, shoved him around now and then, and his mom was too busy working shitty jobs and looking for better ones when he came home with grass stains on his clothes. Whenever his mom wasn’t too exhausted to ask him about it, he chucked it up to clumsiness.

High school changed things for him. He slowly began to realize that he was interested in boys the way that most of the other boys were interested in girls. He never told anyone, not even his mom, but he experimented with things by himself and read about things on the internet.

He stopped taking dance classes and put all his time and effort in becoming a star athlete–this won him more friends and respect, but sadly it also regularly put him in the spotlight... and athletes were expected to have girlfriends. He dated a girl or two, even got to second base with most of them, but always found some excuse to break up with them.

And then there was Lucas, the school’s star football player, tall, blonde and nothing short of absolutely gorgeous. He never had any intention of acting out on his feelings, the two of them were friends the way most jocks were at his small school, and most of them were – or pretended to be – at least mildly homophobic. He joined in most of the time, afraid that anything less would cost him his reputation, until one night at a bonfire he caught Lucas rolling his eyes in disgust and leave the group.

He’d ran after Lucas with the excuse of bringing him a drink, but really he wanted to know what had prompted his reaction.

They shared their first kiss after one of Lucas’ big games, a tentative and slow kiss far from the prying eyes of any of their friends, and it was perfect. He was fourteen, and he was in love. Every stolen glance made his heart beat faster, every brush of their hands when they were sitting next to each other, every kiss, every touch, it all made his world seem more colorful because finally he had someone he could share everything with. Even if they were sneaking around and Lucas was pretending to date a cheerleader.

Until that ended.

He and Lucas had headed to a gay bar together, and they felt safe, too safe perhaps, because what had started as a dance turned into frantic kissing and groping to them tumbling into the backroom of the bar, where the thick and husky smell of bodies only encouraged them further. They jerked each other off in a dark corner, all hushed breaths and messy kisses, and gotten come all over themselves. But it didn’t matter. They were in love.

To this day he still thinks someone must have seen them together. If not someone from school then a friend of a friend or maybe someone’s older brother. Because when he arrived at school the next day, everyone knew. And he knew for a fact Lucas didn’t tell anyone.

Only the rumors weren’t about their relationship, or about how they’d been sneaking around for months. The rumors were about him at a gay bar, begging Lucas for a blowjob. He’d searched the school for Lucas, but by the time he’d found him it was clear Lucas was the one feeding the rumors, he was the one making sure what information got funneled to the rest of the student body and none of them implicated his own involvement. As far as the school was concerned, he was the gay kid who’d tried to seduce the star of the football team.

When he found Lucas, tears blurring his vision, he didn’t ask why, he didn’t need an explanation–as much as they were in love they were far more scared, and in that exact moment he snapped, he hated Lucas for being afraid, he hated himself for his fear, because that was the only thing that would ever hold them down, force them and others to hide who they really were, feed into the outside world’s fear of what they didn’t understand.

He’d stormed over to Lucas and hit him with a closed fist, breaking two of his fingers and Lucas’ nose in the process. After that the school got involved and so did their parents, and he couldn’t even look at his mom when he told her what had happened. She’d wrapped her arms around him and held him close, telling him how this didn’t change anything, he was her son and she loved him unconditionally, no matter who he loved. His mom is the only person in his life he could ever truly count on.

But school was barely tolerable after that. Almost all his friends dropped him like a brick, and his track buddies only tolerated him because he won them competitions. He got pushed and shoved around and beaten pretty bad once when the football team wanted retaliation for what he did to Lucas. He took it, all of it, hiding bruises from his mother, reassuring her whenever he couldn’t hide that he had things under control.

That’s when his sexual awakening had really started. He closed his heart off to the possibility of love and promised himself he’d only stick to strangers from now on, he was young and curious and he found plenty of guys willing to show him a good time.

He never thought that somewhere along the way his hatred of his own fear would turn him as vicious and lowly at his own bullies. He could turn down guys he wasn’t interested in differently, he could say ‘thanks, but no thanks’ and have that be enough without adding snide comments. He could’ve avoided becoming one more painful memory to Karofsky. This is what Blaine had been talking about, he treats everything like a big joke without ever thinking of the consequences. Blaine had warned him that might change. And here it is.

By the time he’s halfway home he can’t stand thinking about it anymore, so he speeds up into a sprint, hightailing it home as fast as he can in the hope of finding some distraction there. He grinds to a halt when he reaches the front door, breathing hard, his muscles burning, realizing now he should’ve stretched before demanding this kind of exercise from his body.

A few drops of blood hit the pavement beneath him. “Fuck,” he breathes, catching the next few drops of blood with his fingers, and somehow manages to unlock the front door with one hand.

He’s hanging over the sink in the kitchen stuffing pieces of paper towel up his nose when his mother comes home. She digs a hand through his hair and kisses the top of his head, leaving her disappointment unspoken. “What happened?” she asks.

“I overdid it.” He stands up straight. “This one’s on me.”

“What’s wrong?” his mother asks, perceptive as ever.

He frowns to himself. “Someone who used to go to McKinley tried to kill himself.” He looks up at his mother, his voice trembling. “His teammates found out he was gay.”

He hears the words echo somewhere way back in his past and it lances through him harder than he could’ve anticipated–he thought he’d dealt with all this years ago, but this has brought it all back. His mother reaches her arms around his neck and pulls him into a hug.

“Honey,” his mother whispers into the crook of his neck, her hand stroking his hair. “You’ve never–”

“No, mom,” he answers. “Don’t worry. And I never will.”

She pulls back and smiles up at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Go lie down,” she says. “I’ll bring you some aspirin.”

He saunters towards his room and lies down on the bed.

No, he’d never considered taking his own life, not seriously anyway. Sometimes, as an escape, to get away from everything. But suicide seemed like a permanent solution to a temporary problem, because eventually, things get better. And they did for him. There was still the occasional insult and he got into plenty of fights, but as long as he kept his business to himself, wasn’t a _flaming gay_ as some of the jocks put it, he did fairly well at school.

In a lot of ways, McKinley was both a terrifying and a welcome new start for him. He wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes again, stick to dating people outside the school–and he wouldn’t advertise his sexuality. Everyone knew, except apparently Finn Hudson, but they accepted it. More than they accepted Kurt or Blaine.

 

.

 

It had all happened so fast. Kurt had called him absolutely hysterical, tears in his voice, but he hadn’t been able to make out a single word. He’d jumped in his car and driven over there, only to find Carol and Burt were equally clueless as to what was going on. Apparently Kurt had come home crying and locked himself in his room.

“Kurt.” He knocked on the bedroom door, hearing Kurt sob through the door. “It’s me.”

He heard footsteps, the door unlocked and he’d managed to slip inside before Kurt slammed the door shut again. “It’s my fault,” Kurt cried, slumping down on the bed. “It’s all my fault.”

“What is?” he asked, his mind racing with all kinds of scenarios. Burt and Carol were okay, Kurt seemed unharmed–Did someone say or do something? Did he get bad news from NYADA? Was it Finn? What was going on to warrant this panic?

“What happened?”

“It’s Karofsky,” Kurt choked out. “He tried to kill himself.”

He sank down on the bed next to Kurt.

“Some kids at his new school found out he’s gay and they–” Kurt shook his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You should see what they’re saying on his Facebook.”

He didn’t need to see to guess.

_Why don’t you crawl back into the closet?_

_Better luck next time._

“Is he–?” he asked, but stopped himself. He wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it. Bully or not, death threats or not, Karofsky had tried to make amends, he’d apologized to him and Kurt and tried to sort himself out. And to now be gay bashed too–he wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy. The memories of his own attackers were still too fresh in his mind. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the things they shouted at him.

“His dad found him in time.” Kurt’s eyes looked puffy and red. “But Blaine, I wasn’t returning his phone calls. I thought if I–oh God.”

He pulled Kurt in for a hug, wrapped his arms around him to protect his best friend and to protect himself, the need to comfort pushing at him. “This wasn’t your fault, Kurt,” he said. “You didn’t bully him. You didn’t push him to the edge.”

“I could’ve helped him,” Kurt cried.

“You couldn’t have known this would happen.” His arms tightened around Kurt. “It’s not your fault.”

It had all happened so fast. He’d planned on setting in the week before Regionals with a solo in front of the rest of the group, to get them excited for another competition, to forget about Harmony’s threats and remind them that the most important thing was to have fun. But now, he can’t sing anything happy. He can’t even sing anything in front of the group.

_Life’s too short to even care at all, oh_

It’s not often that he allows himself to think back, it hurts too much, the events still too close to the surface to be touched again. But things like this bring it all back, like the first insult Karofsky threw his way, the first time Karofsky shoved Kurt into a locker–it boiled up from a place he thought he’d locked it away; he was supposed to be safe now, his bullies at another school, his coming out behind him.

_I’m losing my mind, losing my mind, losing control, oh_

He’d lost control. He’d shoved Karofsky right back and he probably would’ve gotten beaten up all over again if Mr Schue hadn’t stepped in. He’d trembled where he stood, hands balled into fists, so angry that he even started worrying Kurt. They’d fought about it, Kurt shouting they should wait it out, ride the waves until they disappeared, him screaming his disgust over Kurt’s submission. He knew it wouldn’t stop. It never stopped. He was doomed to live this forever.

_These fishes in the sea they’re staring at me, oh_

He hadn’t talked to Kurt for days, because couldn’t he see? Didn’t he realize? He’d realized too late Kurt knew why he’d transferred, but he never told him about his coming out, about the boy he’d asked to the Sadie Hawkins dance, about how that night ended. And it wasn’t until Kurt suggested they went to prom together that he told him. It’d been locked inside for over a year by then, only his therapist, Ms Pillsbury and his parents knew what really happened.

_A wet world aches for a beat of a drum, oh_

Compared to what came after, coming out had somehow been the easiest part. He’d been shoved and laughed at, called names to his face and on Facebook, his father had turned quiet, his mother in the middle trying to keep the peace. Everything had changed. Nothing was ever the same. He was out, and proud to be, but continually pushed down to fit inside a box other people created for him. He couldn’t stare at anyone in the locker rooms without getting an earful, he couldn’t wear flamboyant clothing without someone making a derogatory comment. He couldn’t even talk to a girl without her being called his beard or his hag. Coming out alienated him from most people in his life.

But he’d do it all over again.

_If I could find a way to see this straight I’d run away, to some fortune that I should have found by now_

Maybe it’d been a mistake, but Liam was his friend and they were both excited to go, to be lumped in with all the other people, to be two regular teens that went out to high school dances. And most of the night had gone off without a hitch. There’d been the occasional push and shove, an elbow here and there, but they’d laughed and danced and it was fun. Pure unadulterated fun.

_And so I run now to the things they said could restore me_

But it was fun that didn’t last. The night wound down, and they were waiting for Liam’s parents to pick them up, still high on spiked punch and music. They’d been singing, though he can’t remembers what song, and they hadn’t heard them coming. They weren’t all jocks; some of them had been boys he’d called his friend up until a few weeks before, boys who were friendly to his face. Should he have seen it coming?

_Restore life the way it should be_

He doesn’t remember all that much about the beating, only flashes, the first fist to his face, his head smacking hard on the pavement as he fell, a leg kicking, others following. And Liam across from him on the cold concrete, eyes wide in fear, blood trailing from a cut above his eye. Liam screaming.

_I’m waiting for this cough syrup to come down_

It’s his story, not Karofsky’s or Kurt’s, but there’s something they share in all this: these injustices done to them because there are people in this world that don’t understand, that let that turn into fear, that let their fear bloom into violence. And why?

“Thanks guys,” he tells the band, hoping his voice sounds steadier than he’s feeling.

“You okay, man?” Scott, the bassist, asks.

“Yeah,” he says, but all of them know better.

He’d be lying if he said he never considered taking his own life. He woke up in the hospital the day after the dance with a severe concussion, a few broken ribs, and even though the medication stopped him from feeling it all, he knew the rest of his body got broken too. On the inside. They broke him down, beat him up, let their fears get the best of them.

And he thought about it, the pills and the razorblades and the belt, at night when the pain got unbearable or he had to get up and move or whenever his tongue grazed over his split lip. He couldn’t bear the thought of going back to that school, because the next shove or word might prove his undoing, might push him over the edge, might make him jump.

Until his father told him he’d be transferring. He didn’t get a choice in the matter, he wouldn’t go back to his old school, not when it refused to expel the kids that did this to him. It’s the most driven he’d ever seen his father, his heart clenching painfully when one night he found his father in his mother’s arms, despairing that they didn’t have the money to get him into private education.

That’s why he always forgives his father. His father loves him.

And he didn’t want to jump. He didn’t want to leave the people who did love him behind. He pulled himself together as best he could and decided to face the world again.

He’s happy that he did.

Someone breathes behind him; he knows Sebastian’s been there the whole time. He glances at Sebastian over his shoulder briefly, silently grateful for his presence.

“I’m sorry about Karofsky,” Sebastian says.

He doesn’t move. “We weren’t friends.”

“Doesn’t mean we don’t all feel it.”

He huffs, and turns around to face Sebastian. “Except they don’t, do they?” he asks. They don’t know the despair, the fear, the terror that tomorrow will be no different than today or yesterday or the day before, that nothing will ever change and all they can do is settle for a life of looking over their shoulder. “Not really. Not like we—“ he breathes, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

“No.” Sebastian casts down his eyes. “Not like we do.”

There’s another moment of silence, their distance at its smallest somehow.

“Sebastian—” he says, the need for comfort pulling at him, even though he doesn’t know what makes him think Sebastian will even listen.

But he says it anyway. “Compete with us.”

Sebastian averts his eyes. He wonders if it’s really the nosebleeds and the promise to his mother holding him back.

“I know why you don’t, but we could really use you.”

He doesn’t even care that he sounds like he’s begging. He is begging. Does it really matter at this point? He likes having Sebastian around.

“Do it as an apology.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, maybe he shouldn’t remind either of them why things between them have been so cold–it was just a slushie that ruined Kurt’s outfit and he’s forgiven worse things from bigger bullies, but he wants to believe Sebastian can be more than that. He doesn’t know why that is exactly.

He meets with unwavering silence.

He sighs, shakes his head. Maybe he’s expecting too much. “Forget–”

“Okay.”

He blinks up at Sebastian and he’s beautiful somehow, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, pulled between a yes and a no, and he can’t tell if it’s his imagination, but he could swear Sebastian’s close to tears as well.

“I’ll do it.” Sebastian shrugs, doesn’t once release his eyes. Sebastian draws in a deep shuddery breath. “Because I do feel it, Blaine.”

He thinks it’s the first time Sebastian calls him by his first name only.

 

.

 

Not everyone welcomes him with open arms.

The moment he and Blaine hit the choir room together and Blaine goes “Guys, guess what?” with that ridiculously beaming smile, there’s more than one member of the New Directions that has something to say about his return.

Rachel perks up immediately, clapping her hands excitedly, while Finn looks his usual confused self. If he ever gets the chance, he really should ask Rachel why she choose him in particular to extend her kindness to.

“Oh hell to the no,” Mercedes offers her opinion the moment she takes notice of him. “This is not the week to mess with us, Smythe.”

“No tricks,” he blurts out, faster than he intended, but he does feel it, the raw edges of his own coming out forever painful to the touch. More than anything he’s here for Blaine though, he’s glad that in spite of everything he still warrants Blaine’s enthusiasm. “I’m here because Blaine asked me.”

Blaine looks back at him, and smiles. Something unfamiliar curls in his stomach.

“But–why?” Santana says, with more attitude than he cares for. “I mean, _sure Blaine_ , he helped you win Sectionals, but he’s made it no secret he dislikes most of us, he slushied Kurt with _rock_ _salt_ , and he’s continually trying to get into those tight sterilizing pants of yours. Why should we trust him?”

Finn frowns. “Wait.”

“Yeah, big guy, I’m gay,” he says, possibly adding even more to the general confusion in the room.

Kurt remains remarkably silent, but for once their differences don’t matter. It’s not Kurt’s sexuality he takes issue with.

“This thing with Karofsky is hard on all of us, Santana,” Blaine says, clearly more used to dealing with a disapproving crowd of fellow students. “Now, more than ever, we should stick together.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mr Schue’s voice sounds behind them, and before he’s prepared for it the Spanish teacher has a hand clasped around his shoulder. “Welcome back, Sebastian.” He tries his best not to cringe. “Have a seat, guys.”

Blaine takes a seat next to Kurt, clearly preoccupied with consoling his best friend, while he choses a seat in the back row, hoping he’ll blend into everyone’s peripheral vision and not attract too much attention.

He tunes out most of what Mr Schue says, about McKinley having home-court advantage at Regionals this year, about this being _their_ year and their shot at a Nationals trophy–and he can’t help but think this whole speech would be a lot more touching if it weren’t in fact only a few days before Regionals, and it turns out the New Directions, once again, don’t have a playlist ready. How do these people accomplish anything this way?

When Mr Schue proposes they do something for Karofsky and that he’s open to suggestions, the whole room explodes into murmurs. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, hearing very few reasonable suggestions.

“You could dedicate your performance to him,” he blurts out.

And it’s one of those movie moments where his voice barely reaches over everyone else’s but it manages to silence the room, voices dying out to stunned whispers.

“Sebastian?” Mr Schue blinks.

“We could–raise money,” he says, all eyes in the room turned to him, some wide in surprise, others wide in shock. There’s only one set of eyes accompanied by an almost proud smile. Blaine’s.

He shrugs uncomfortably. “Or whatever.”

Blaine’s the first one to turn his eyes front again. “For Lady Gaga’s Born This Way foundation,” he says.

“Y-yeah,” Quinn chimes in hesitantly, tearing her eyes away from him as well, and it’s painfully clear she notices Blaine’s trying to shift the focus. “We could have some of the cheerleaders pass around baskets in the audience.”

“Are we all agreed on this?” Mr Schue asks, looking around the room, everyone nodding their consent once the initial shock has subsided. “Alright,” Mr Schue adds, clapping his hands together. “Let’s talk song choices.”

They spent the next half hour discussing whether or not they should do  _Born This Way_  again for Regionals, but apparently that involved something with confessional t-shirts and they’d have to change costumes backstage and there simply wasn’t enough time for that. The Troubletones unanimously decide they want to do  _What Doesn’t Kill You_  by Kelly Clarkson and he’s grateful at least some of these people seem together enough to actually  _make_  a decision.

It takes another half hour to decide on the other two songs, but after an hour Mr Schue finally divides them in a group that’ll take care of the mash-up, the Troubletones who take care of their own  _bam bam_  (Santana’s words) and a significantly smaller group in charge of choreography. He’s part of the latter. He, Mike and Brittany quickly agree to take care of the routines after cheerleading/football/track practice the next day.

As he walks out of the room later he can’t believe he’s here again, joining the New Directions _again_. At Blaine’s request, _again_.

“Hi,” a voice sounds, one he’s come to recognize too easily already.

He closes his locker, and looks at the shorter boy by his side. “Hey.”

“Thanks for doing this,” Blaine says, clutching his books to his chest, fingers fiddling with the bookmarks.

He sighs, a deep remorse coursing through him. “You were right about me, Blaine,” he says. “It’s all fun and games–” He shakes his head, thinking back to all the insults he threw Karofsky’s way. He should’ve known better. “–until it’s not. Maybe it’s time I stop treating everything like it’s a big joke.”

“You don’t,” Blaine says, and he blushes that particular shade of red that tells him Blaine hasn’t thought through what he’s saying, instead he’s blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. He likes that shade of red, it makes him realize just how honest Blaine is with him.

Blaine shakes his head, and laughs nervously. “That’s not–”

“In any case,” he says, wondering when Blaine had decided he was actually a somewhat decent guy, “I’m sorry.”

Blaine blinks up at him, his mouth quirks and he can almost see his mind race. “Apology accepted,” Blaine answers, and for some reason he feels a weight lifting off his shoulders. He might have it worse than he initially thought. Blaine makes him want to be a better person.

“But I’m not the only one you should be apologizing to,” Blaine adds, catching his eyes once more before turning around slowly, leaving with that characteristic happy trip in his step.

He smiles and shakes his head: the beautiful little idiot is impossible.


	6. This Just In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by darri2346. A few years ago I became obsessed with Andrew-Lee Potts and Hannah Spearritt, for uhm, reasons. This is an adaptation of one of their interviews :)

**‘He’s my rock and rocks my world** – **I love him’**

**BLAINE ANDERSON and SEBASTIAN SMYTHE**

**The _Smash_ beaus reveal all about their real-life love affair!**

 

The wonderful world of celebrity, as _OK!_ readers will undoubtedly agree, is a minefield of stars who are rather pleasing to the eye. But fewer come as deliciously kooky and as mouth-wateringly sexy as these two lovers. Blaine Anderson and Sebastian Smythe, stars of NBC hit _Smash_ , are without a doubt one of the most eye-catching couples we've seen in a long time. Blaine, with his stunning Disney Prince features, and Sebastian, with his disarming smile, are what you might call a perfectly suited couple. Not just because they look stunning together but because they bounce off each other like a legendary double act.

When we meet the pair a few days after our romantic outdoorsy shoot, they’re on particular fine form. When we jokingly congratulate them on being our favorite new twosome, Sebastian, tongue firmly in cheek, asks: 'Do we get an award for that?' When we suggest perhaps they'd win most beautiful couple from _Smash_ , Blaine beams: ‘I doubt that, since our characters have been dancing around each other all year.’ ‘Unless, of course,’ Sebastian pipes up, ‘they finally get their act together next season.’ ‘Spoilers,’ Blaine smiles.

Oh yes, Blaine and Sebastian, both 24, are a couple of funsters. And as we soon discover, so serious about each other that they’re already thinking about wedding plans. But before we get chatting about that, we need to clear something up. Kurt Hummel, Blaine’s old Broadway flame, recently said he believed Blaine and Sebastian’s relationship blossomed while he and Blaine were still together. With allegations like that flying around, there was only one question we could ask.

 

**Let's get this straight, when exactly did you guys get together?**

Blaine: I understand where people get that. Sebastian was on Broadway with _West Side Story_ while I was doing _Newsies_ and we did meet. But we didn’t start dating until after we finished shooting the first season of _Smash_ last summer. Long after I had split up with Kurt.

 

**What were your first impressions?**

Sebastian: He didn’t like me.

**What?**

Blaine: It’s not that I didn’t like you! I didn’t know you. We met at some afterparty three years ago, and a friend of mine introduced us. And yeah, I thought he was a smooth talker.

**But that changed?**

Blaine: Oh yeah. Now I know he’s a smooth talker. [laughs]

 

**You didn’t smooch while filming, then?**

Sebastian: If only.

[Blaine elbows Sebastian lovingly in the ribs]

Sebastian: We were close, which is hard to avoid when you’re in such close quarters together 24/7, but I didn’t want to be a d**k about it and assume. But we both knew there was a connection.

 

**How long into the show did you have feelings for each other?**

Blaine: There were a lot of moments when I thought, _I like you_. But we were close and we enjoyed being together. It wasn’t until people around us said stuff that I started to think about it. Everyone said we were sweet together.

Sebastian: When you’re going through it, you don’t realize you have these feelings. You see each other every day, you have romantic scenes together, it’s hard not to get close, even if both of us had been straight.

 

**So it was once you wrapped on the show that you finally got together?**

Sebastian: After filming ended I was set to go to France to shoot a movie, but I wasn’t about to miss my shot. So I took him out to dinner, which has already gone down in Tumblr history, I’ve noticed, and let him know how I felt.

[Sebastian and Blaine make heart eyes at each other]

Blaine: The Tumblr thing is funny, because all the “shippers” out there use those pictures as proof that we’re dating, not realizing that was in fact our first date.

 

**Is the scrutiny hard?**

Blaine: I don’t think we can complain. We enjoy our privacy, but we like going out too. It’s give and take, we don’t go out of our way to hide our relationship, but we don’t flaunt it either.

 

**Did you make the most of the last day together, before Sebastian went to France?**

Blaine: God yes, I stayed with him until he left the next morning when he got into the cab and then we didn’t see each other for five weeks. But we Skyped for hours every day.

 

**Did you ever worry that your time on _Smash_ might have been like a holiday romance?**

Blaine: It’s definitely something you think about, especially since our characters have this endless flirtation going on between them. But I think we both realized very fast that flirtation extended beyond our characters.

Sebastian: You learn to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not pretty quickly.

 

**So everything is hunky dory...**

Blaine: Everything’s great. I could wake up every morning and start singing.

Sebastian: He does.

Blaine: [laughs] Sebastian is the most special person in my life and the fact that we’re facing this Hollywood rollercoaster together has only made our relationship stronger. Despite all the progress we’ve made it’s still hard to find a place in this business as a gay man, but knowing that I’m facing this with Sebastian makes it easier. He’s my rock and rocks my world – I love him.

 

**You haven’t been together long and already you're living together...**

Sebastian: We didn’t plan it. Blaine was renting a studio and after the show got picked up I decided to buy a place. One night when we were out on the terrace we both went: ‘Is it too soon?’ Then we thought, why the hell not?

**What is it about Blaine that makes you feel this way, Sebastian?**

For one thing, he never takes any of my bullsh*t, like some people you find in this industry. He still thinks I’m as big an idiot as the day we met. He’s kept grounded and he’s unaffected. And he doesn’t realize just how flawless he is.

[Blaine blushes]

Sebastian: His ass helps too.

 

**When you have to work apart, are you both trusting?**

Sebastian: He gets a little jealous.

Blaine: I do get a little jealous, but I trust him completely. We believe in each other and that’s the greatest feeling ever.

 

**So does this mean we'll be hearing wedding bells soon?**

Blaine: We’re happy where we are now. We have a vacation planned once the show wraps and we’re headed to New York again after the summer. We’ll see where we go from there.

Sebastian: It’s funny how everyone keeps bringing that up.

 

“Neither of you have thought about it?” the interviewer asks, turning off the camcorder that’d been standing on the table between them.

Blaine and Sebastian exchange glances and smile.

Blaine’s thought about it, when he passes couples on the streets who don’t have to worry about paparazzi hiding in the bushes, magazines making flagrant assumptions about his relationship, friends from the past popping up to claim their fifteen minutes of fame by spewing lies. It does put a strain on his relationship with Sebastian, no matter how often he denies it in interviews like these.

Sebastian’s thought about it too, last week when he passed that cute jewelry store on his way home from lunch. He’d lingered at the window long enough for a paparazzo to snap several shots, and speculation about impending nuptials was published online the next day. It’s not an altogether unpleasant thought, marrying Blaine, but their future’s uncertain and it’s too soon now.

“I’m sorry about the Kurt question,” Blaine tells Sebastian an hour later in the car, once they’ve successfully maneuvered past the lines of screaming fans–Blaine likes to take his time signing autographs and posing for pictures, Sebastian prefers waving at everyone and getting to their next scheduled event. Or home, in this case. But Sebastian always makes an effort for Blaine.

“Forget it,” Sebastian answers, finally feeling himself relax. He’s on guard when they attend public events, when the world zooms in on them and tries to take their relationship apart with a fine comb. But once he’s alone he eases back into his behind-the-scenes self, one he reserves for friends and family and his boyfriend. “It’s not your fault Kurt didn’t know you better than that.”

Blaine smiles and scoots closer; Sebastian opens his arms and Blaine settles against his body, visibly relaxing too.

“You trust me completely, hu?” Sebastian asks.

“I didn’t think it was necessary to mention we had a fight about you flirting with the photographer after the shoot,” Blaine says, looking up at him. “But yeah,” he answers. “I do trust you.”


End file.
